The 63rd Annual Hunger Games
by Avocado Ink
Summary: Happy Hunger Games! May the odds ever be in your favor! Rated for obvious bloodshed and cursing. No romance.
1. Official Tribute List!

If you have any questions about this list, please PM me!

* * *

District 1 Male: Jaeger Leon Blackwater

District 1 Female: Vencitiy Corbinette

District 2 Male: Ross Everlark

District 2 Female: Arden Carter

District 3 Male: Igor Apature

District 3 Female: Yarrow Cochran

District 4 Male: Mason Sharp

District 4 Female: Cordelia Gallagher

District 5 Male: Phoenix Drake

District 5 Female: Scout Singe

District 6 Male: Beetle Loward

District 6 Female: Morphine Andrews

District 7 Male: Castiel Rasputin

District 7 Female: Auburn Mist

District 8 Male: Tweed Fubrick

District 8 Female: Thimbleen Stitcher

District 9 Male: Karave Solethem

District 9 Female: Iris Thorn

District 10 Male: Wayne Brandson

District 10 Female: Robin holly

District 11 Male: Flint Hawkins

District 11 Female: Elizabeth Carpenter

District 12 Male: Adair Haskins

District 12 Female: Maikee Marie Mellonamien


	2. District 1 Female: Vencitiy Corbette!

Here's the District 1 Female Tribute, Vencitiy Corbette! I hope you like her!

* * *

It would be quite some time until the reaping started, but that did not mean much.

The dim sunlight peeped through the curtains of her bedroom window, bathing her makeup stand in light. She sat behind it, neatly pinning her long hair back from her face. A thick yet soft brush dusted near translucent powder over smooth skin. Fingers, slender yet callused at the tips, slowly unscrewed the lid of a tiny pink capsule and dipped an equally tiny pink brush into the dark inky liquid inside. Its bristled traced a thin, steady line above the soft skin above her lashes.

She slowly thickened her eyelashes into a deep black and fluttered them at her reflection in front of her. It smiled at her, perfect straight teeth shining white in contrast to her glossy red lips, face remade into a beauty even more pleasant than how it was before its makeover.

She added a few final touches, gluing tiny sparkles on the ends of her eyelashes, making her cheekbones appear higher with smudges of dark cream, and defining her jawline with powder. She then worked on her nails, adding crescent moons of french tips and fake jewels on the centers.

Finally, she released her locks from the pins. Brown waves tumbled down past her shoulders to the curve of her back. She brushed her hair carefully before she began to pin them again, her fingers intricately weaving through the strands lest she ruin her manicure.

She pinned the left side of her hair to her head, allowing the shorter locks by her face to frame it. The right side she allowed to remain loose and simply curled the ends into ringlets to give it a bounce.

Done with makeup, she stood up, stretching her slim leg, and slipped into her dress. The top line glimmered with tiny jewels against dark crimson fabric that slimmed around her waist, making previously nonexistent curves noticeable, and fell in ruffles to the middle of her thighs.

She carefully clasped a silver necklace around her neck and took anther look in the mirror. Cold, yet satisfied gray eyes greeted her, and she smiled at them.

The white door of her bedroom opened and a face, unmarked by any beauty product, peered in with a smile that almost instantly evolved into a grin.

"Venicity! Ven!" the girl shrieked as she entered the room, already dressed in a light blue gown. "You look gorgeous!"

Vencitiy laughed, a dimple digging deep into her left cheek. "And you look just adorable, Cy," she replied.

Cyrina halted in her tracks and pouted. "But if I get reaped I should be beautiful and stunning, not adorable," she complained.

"Please, it's way too early to hear that sort of blather from my sisters," a deep male voice cut in from the hallway. A young man, dressed in formal clothes and donning black hair, walked in and eyed Vencitiy. "You look beautiful, Ven."

Vencitiy giggled at him, twirling her hips so that the ruffles of her dressed circled them. "Thank you, Mr. Too-Old-To-Be-Reaped!"

He rolled his brown eyes before looking at Cy. "Cyrina, you're only fifteen. I refuse to hear this sort of talk from you."

Cyrina only replied with a quick raspberry before turning to her older sister, all smiles. "Vencitiy, can you please do my makeup?" she asked, her voice dripping with honey.

Vencitiy glanced at the clock above her makeup stand. "Fine," she said with a small smile. "But I'm going to make it a quick one, okay?"

She hastily did Cy's makeup, aware of the time flying by. At this rate they would not be early to the reaping. Her family was almost always early to get the best seats.

When she finished she shooed her siblings downstairs to greet the rest of their family. Her mother and youngest sister were already at the kitchen eating breakfast.

"Eat up," their mother said, her black hair curled into an elegant bun. She set three plates of toast, scrambled eggs, and cut fruit on the dining table.

Vencitiy took a seat, eying the plate of food. "You'd think I'd get a better meal before going to the Capitol, mother?" she joked, piercing a strawberry with her fork. Red juice dripped onto the white plate.

Her mother's steely eyes flashed at her direction. "Vencitiy, don't you even consider volunteering as a tribute this year," she said, her voice light.

"Of course, mother, that's for next year, yes?" Vencitiy replied, carefully tearing off a chunk of buttered toast with her teeth. She chewed and swallowed, sighing with longing. "Then I'll be eighteen and will nobly rise up to the stage and _snatch_––" she took another bite of her toast with a grin. "––the position of tribute from the reaped."

"Ven, don't talk with your mouth full," her brother said gently, pausing from his eggs.

She rolled her eyes. "Zayte, stop being so grumpy just because you were never chosen!"

He just shook his head at his plate. Vencitiy frowned. Usually she and her brother quarreled only for fun, but the frostiness in his voice was audible. She sighed again. Her brother was never in a good mood on reaping days despite that his last was two years ago.

"Are you really going to volunteer next year?" their youngest sister, Emiline, asked. Her feet hung off the dining chair as she looked at Vencitiy with huge gray eyes.

"Of course, Emi, unless I get chosen this year," Venicity replied with a sweet smile, reaching across the table to ruffle her sister's hair. _That's unlikely, though._

The sound of bell boomed across the house. Venicity stood up in a flash, grinning. "That must be Adlele!"

She pranced past the huge living room to the door and flung it open. As she expected, her best friend was there, already in a deep blue dress. Adlele flung her blond hair behind her shoulder and beamed at Vencitiy.

"Great makeup!" she commented, her hazel eyes raking over the other's outfit. "And, gosh, where did you get that dress? It's gorgeous!"

"It costed a fortune," Venicitiy replied with an exaggerated sigh. "Come in! We're just finishing breakfast, but I'm sure they wouldn't mind to see you."

Zayte greeted Adlele with a smile and a kiss on the cheek while Emiline stood up and hugged her. Cyrina, however, stayed at her seat and simply nodded at her. "Good morning, Adle," she greeted coolly."

Adlele resisted the urge to roll her eyes and just smiled. "Hello to you, Cyrina." She turned to Vencitiy's mother with a polite curtsy. "And hello to you, Mrs. Corbinette."

"Everyone ready?" Heads turned to Mr. Corbinette as he strode into the dining room, handsomely dressed in a fine tuxedo. He nodded to Adlele and strode to the front door. "Let's go, then."

They left the house in an elegant group, walking past the small garden at the front and to the streets. They could have easily gotten a cab, but the city square was only blocks away from their neighborhood and, besides, it was a regular custom to walk to the reaping.

Adlele's family joined them as they walked. The weather was sunny with only a few clouds dotting the blue sky, trees casting dappled shadows over the sidewalks they walked on. They chattered as they walked.

"You have a higher chance," Adlele commented, arm casually looped around Vencitiy's. "I mean, you take tesserae each year, right?"

"Yep," Vencitiy said, tossing her head. "Not like we really need it, but hey the extra food's never a problem. The bread actually makes a good snack every once in a while."

Cyrina wrinkled her nose in distaste. "I don't like it, Ven," she complained, holding Emiline's hand as they walked. "It tastes all rough and and grainy!"

"Yes, it's grainy because it's made out of grain," Ven shot back.

"No it's grainy because it sucks!" Cy chirped.

"Does not!"

"Does too!"

The lighthearted argument continued until their father quieted them. They filed to the city square amongst huge crowds. The children said good bye to the adults and went to line to get their blood checked.

"Wait," Zayte murmured, gently grabbing Vencitiy by the shoulder. She raised penciled eyebrows at him, stopping in her tracks.

Gray eyes met gray for a few seconds as people streamed around them to the reaping area. Adele waited a few steps away from them, watching with mild interest.

"Promise me that you won't volunteer, Ven?" he asked, so quietly that Vencitiy could barely hear him over the chatter of the crowd. His face was serious, his jaw set and his eyebrows knitted together in the beginning of a frown.

She hesitated. The retort that she could do whatever she wanted was a bubble in her throat, and she swallowed it down and nodded at her brother. "I promise," she said, kissing him on the cheek. They laughed lightly at the red print it left, and he waved her goodbye, watching her clasp hands with Adlele and go to get their fingers pricked.

Vencitiy felt a small wave of disappointment wash over her as the needle dug into her finger for verification, as she had felt the past five years. This was just going to be another reaping without her being chosen.

She and Adlele strode to the 17-year-old area, standing hand-in-hand and staring at the empty stage ahead of them.

Eventually all the adolescents entered the square and silence fell over the crowd. A woman walked up to the stage––for the life of her Vencitiy could not remember her name, though she was pretty sure her first was 'Lalaicious'––and greeted them with a winning smile. Vencitiy swore she could see pointed fangs behind those purple lips of hers.

"Welcome, District 1!" she greets, her high voice booming across the square. She is greeted with enthusiastic applause and cheers from both the children and the adults. Vencitiy momentarily let go of her friend's hand to cheer with them.

"Enthusiastic as ever, now, are we?" Lalaicious laughed a tinkling laugh. "Well, then, we shall waste no time! Ladies first, now, don't we?"

She strode over to the glass bowl and dipped her hand in, rummaging deep. Vencitiy watched, trying to push down the feeling of excitement and tension that always sparked in her chest during the reapings. There was no point to keep her hopes up––the paper that would come out of that bowl would not have her name on it. Next year she would volunteer, and that'd be her moment of glory.

She watched as Lalalicious fished a folded slip from the bowl and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath.

"And our female tribute this year is..."

The name that the Capitolist would announce would not be hers. Every fiber of her body told her this, despite how much she wanted it to be true.

"Vencitiy Corbinette!"

Adlele's hand instantly squeezed her's, and Vencitiy's eyes opened wide. From the edges of her vision, she could see the faces of her peers looking at her, but that didn't matter, that didn't matter at all because her heart was pounding so violently in her chest now and the corners of her mouth were beginning to move outward to form a huge grin.

A combination of a shriek and a squeal erupted from the depths of her throat as she jumped where she was, slipping her sweat-slicked hand from Adlele's to clap them together. Ravenous, she turned her head toward the pathway and the crowd of seventeen-year-olds instantly parted for her.

She leaped––well, ran, but no elegant girl just _runs_ in heels––up the stage and snatched the slip of paper from the befuddled Lalalicious. Her eyes scanned the paper, and _yes, yes!––Vencitiy Corbette! _This wasn't some sort of crazy dream!

She kissed the paper, hard, leaving a great red print behind before holding it up high above her head with both arms, grinning. A steady clapping started from the audience before they broke into yet another applause, cheering for her. Adlele, she could see, was cheering the hardest of all.

Vencitiy knew that no one would bother volunteering for her, unless they were asking for suicide. She was reaped! She was reaped, she was reaped, nothing else mattered.

She hummed to herself, grinning, as Lalalicious regained herself and chose the male tribute, a young boy that she didn't know at all. However, as the boy stood up on stage and Lalalicious called for volunteers, a hand shot out from the crowd.

She watched, mildly interested, as a handsome man––man, not boy, she observed––stepped onto the stage.

"And what might your name be?" Lalalicious asked, her voice simpering.

"Jaeger Leon Blackwater, miss," he replied clearly into the microphone, flashing a smile at the crowd.

She turned to him when instructed, both pairs of eyes locking as they grasped their hands together.

Vencitiy gave him her most winning grin, squeezing his hand warmly, and his only reply was an equally winning smile.

_Oh, this will not be easy, _was the first thought to appear in her head as she let go of his hand, but did that matter? Did it matter. No. It did not.

Peacekeepers came and escorted the two into the city hall behind the stage. Vencitiy sat neatly on one of the seats, looking at the room with slight interest. The place was elegant, the floor beneath her feet marble, the walls white with equally white pillars. The couch––that word wasn't elegant enough to describe it––she sat on made of the finest velvet, and she ran her fingers through it cheerfully.

The door opened and she was only able to glimpse Zayte's frown before Cyrina rushed in, bowling her over with a hug.

"Oh my GOSH Vencitiy, you got in, you got in!" Cyrina squealed, squeezing her sister. Serenity choked, patting her sister on the back.

"Yes, yes, I did!" she said, her voice weak because of how Cy was forcing the air out of her lungs, but she had a huge grin on nevertheless.

A hand patted her arm and she looked up to Adlele's, whose face matched her own. "I'm jealous~! But this is great, Ven, you're entering the Games!" she exclaimed.

The others, however, were more somber. "Congratulations," her father said, his voice solemn. Her mother nodded next to her, her eyes pained.

However, the smile only slipped off Vencitiy's face when she looked at Zayte. His hand rested on Emiline's shoulder, which was shaking, and he himself avoided her gaze.

"Ven... You're not actually going to the Games, are you?" Emi piped up quietly.

"Of course I am," Vencitiy replied, a bit more harshly than she intended. She was entering the Games! It was a privilege, so why were they treating it as such a bad thing?

"No! But..."

Vencitiy cut Emiline off. "But what? I'm going to die? Don't be silly, Emi," she scoffed, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "Of course I'm going to survive––I'm going to win!"

"Of course you are," Cyrina squealed, her arms still loosely wrapped around her sister's neck.

"Hey, Ven," she said, pressing her cheek against her sister's. "When you win, can you most definitely be my mentor when I'm eighteen? Or when I'm chosen?"

"Of course, Cyrina!" Vencitiy laughed, kissing her sister on the cheek.

Emiline watched the two of them with huge, scared eyes. Zayte's grip on her shoulder tightened.

The three girls began to laugh about something Adlele said, but their laughter died down as Vencitiy's mother approached them. "Ven, dear..." she said, holding a small box in her hand. She held it out to her daughter with her husband behind her, smiling wearily. "This is for you. Your father and I believed that we'd give this to you next year, but it seems like you're getting it a year early."

Vencitiy took it and slid the lid of the box off. Inside was a large pendant, a pink 'V' inscribed on the locket. She took it, holding the chunky locket. A pink '1' was on the other side. She clicked it open, and inside, on both sides, was pictures of her family.

The pictures _glowered_, and a voice whispered under its breath, "May the odds ever be in your favor."

"... Oh, mother, father," she breathed, looking up at them. She swore that the edges of her vision were blurred, but this was no time to be crying. She knew well about the Games and how they dealt with tears. "Thank you."

Zayte let out a shaky sigh, watching his sister closely. "I have one too," he said carefully, grasping Vencitiy's hand and closing his fingers over the locket. "Take care of it well in the arena."

She watched him. His eyes were glistening. "You... I disapproved of you training for the Games before, Ven, but I hope they aid you well in the arena," he said, holding up her hand to his face. He closed his eyes, pressing her knuckles against his forehead. "Please, come back."

She suddenly found it hard to breath, and Vencitiy cleared her throat and blinked rapidly. The air in the room suddenly grew hot. "Y... Yes, of course, Zayte," she said, and her voice lost its arrogance from before. "Of course I will."

Zayte let go of his her hand, a small smile on his face. "Well, then, go get 'em, Ven."

As if on cue, the doors of the room opened and the Peacekeepers told them it was time to go out. Adlele called for a final group hug, and Vencitiy suddenly found her enveloped in a giant tangle of arms.

"I love you guys.. I love you all," she whispered before they all let go, laughing and smile. She waved to them as they left, and the doors shut closed behind her.

No other visitors came, but she didn't mind, as she stared at the interior of the room. Her family and Adlele––they were the only people that mattered to her. And, besides, it wasn't like then was the last time she was going to see them.

A smile twisted its way onto her face. No, no. She'd see them in a couple of weeks, as a Victor.


	3. District 1 Male: Jaeger Leon Blackwater!

The exertion in the basement room was almost palpable, as if the air itself was slicked with humid sweat that stirred with every heated breath.

He paused for a second to pull his head to his right shoulder––loud crunches reverberated from the very bones of his neck, and he released his head with a sigh. Black eyes flickered and came to a focus on his target.

Equally dark eyes watched him back, calculating and wary. His opponent stilled, just for a second––the slam of sword meeting bat made a loud _smack_ vibrate the air around them––he pushed him off and brought down his weapon––

They danced, if one may call it that, the footwork of dodges and attacks a mere waltz, the trading of blows merely partnered routines. The sound of their weapons meeting and their own, harsh breaths were their music.

The two lunged at each other again, weapons held up high––but feet skidded against the hard floor as their rhythm broke so that the two could evade the arrow that would have pierced them both half a second before. It slammed into a target propped up on the wall, right on the bullseye.

Two pairs of dark eyes flashed to the new attacker. Another pair of dark eyes greeted them coldly, but its owner slowly lowered his bow and nodded at them.

"We should be getting ready. At this rate we won't have enough time to get ready," he said, carefully placing his bow on a stand. All three glanced at the clock, but their focus changed its direction as they heard a door opening.

"Stopped training, guys?" a new voice asked from above. A fourth male, one with green eyes and cropped black hair, walked down the stairs, a towel around his shoulders. "And I just came back! What's the deal?"

"Harry nearly killed us to say that we won't be able to get ready at this rate," the sword-bearer said, flicking his head toward Harry. The redhead didn't even blink at the drops of sweat that hit his cheek and merely wiped them off with another towel.

"He's right, though," the club-bearer said. "We need to clean up. I bet we reek right now."

The green-eyed man laughed, throwing his towel at the boy; he caught it and began to wipe his forehead. "Yes, yes, we need to prep up this year's male tribute for District 1, Jaeger Blackwater!"

"Jaeger Leon Blackwater, Duke," Jaeger corrected, placing his club on a weapon stand. It had deep scratches in it from his friend's sword. "Get it right."

The sword-bearer snorted, the the dim lighting glinting off his weapon. "What's up, Jaeger, afraid that Miss Lala will forget say your _purrtastic _middle name?"

"That has to be the worst thing I've ever heard, ever, Griffon," Jaeger shot, a smile tinting the edges of his lips. Griffon only grinned. "Let's hit the showers."

The four guys cleaned themselves in the basement locker room and trudged upstairs, wearing only the towel around their waists.

Griffon opened the door to exit the basement and nearly dropped his towel as a screech exploded in the room, its source the throat of a young girl, her blue eyes stretched wide.

"Ewwwwwww!" she screamed between her laughs, pointing at Griffon, who rolled his eyes and moved away from the doorway so the others could see the source of the ruckus. Jaeger scowled.

"Aphrodite!" he scolded, but his sister was already on the floor, rolling and clutching her sides.

"I'm––telling––YOU'RE ALL NAKED!" she gasped behind her high-pitched laughter. Jaeger glanced at the others in exasperation. Harry's face was absolutely impassive, but the other two raised their eyebrows and smiled at him.

Jaeger frowned at them, then grinned as he got the message.

"We're not naked, Afro," Duke chimed in, leaning against the doorway. She sat up quickly at this, smile gone and a scowl twisting her pretty little face. "Don't call me Afro! I'm Aphrodi––"

"INCOMING!" Jaeger shouted, grabbing the towel at his waist and throwing it at his sister. It hit her right on the face and all four boys scrammed, scrambling up the stairway with their buck naked leader at the front and laughing at the screams that emitted from below.

"I can't believe you guys just made me do that," Jaeger said when they were all in his room, fetching a pair of boxers.

"It was your choice, man, not ours," Duke replied, still laughing. Four sets of clothes were neatly folded on Jaeger's bed. He picked out the largest set, pulling on a clean pair of underwear and slacks.

"Did your mom get us matching outfits?" Griffin asked between his chuckles, doing the same. He pulled on the white dress shirt and blazer and looked in a small mirror on Jaeger's desk. "Classy."

"Seems so," Jaeger said, shoving Griffin aside so that he could look at himself. He eyed the blazer in distaste and shrugged it off, rolling up his sleeves. "That's better."

"Hold up, man, you need a tie," Duke said, already knotting his.

Jaeger narrowed his eyes at him, looking at the tie as if it were some sort of bomb. "No, I don't."

Duke shrugged. "Whatever, man––you just gotta look good on the stage."

"I think I look perfectly fine, _thanks_," Jaeger drawled, fingers dipping into container of hair gel. He pulled out a gob of the stuff, swiping it over his black hair to spike the front.

"Perfectly handsome!" Griffin said, roughly swinging an arm over Jaeger's neck. "Don't 'cha think so too, Harry?"

Harry was already dressed and was straightening his tie. He looked at Jaeger and shrugged. "You look like a mess," he said calmly, dark eyes drifting back down to his tie.

"WHAT DID YOU SAY?"

A knock from outside interrupted what would have easily morphed into a wrestling match. Griffin opened the door and another young girl peered in cautiously.

"Are you done..?" she asked, her voice soft. Jaeger let go of Harry's collar, and looked over with a smile. "Yeah, Athena, we'll be down in a moment."

Athena curtsied to the boys and walked away,

Griffin rolled his eyes as Harry brushed off his shirt. "I swear you slather makeup all over your face and become an entirely new person when you talk to her," he commented, holding open the door for them and making an exaggerated bow.

"Shut up," Jaeger simply replied, not very offended, as he walked out of the door. The others followed, chattering with each other down the stairs to the dining room.

The room was huge, with a large table covered in glass and cloth and a giant glass chandelier above. The boys took a seat at one edge, food already on the table.

"So, Jaeger, ready to volunteer?" Duke asked, spearing four strips of bacon with his fork.

"Of course," Jaeger replied, smirking. He folded his arms behind his head, leaning back against his chair. "Sorry that I'll have to take the spot from you, Harry––then again, though, not that sorry at the same time."

"Whatever," was Harry's reply as he spread jam onto a bagel.

Jaeger rolled his eyes; he would've liked to have gotten more competition from Harry, who was the same age as him and was also training to be a tribute, but Harry had submissively let him take the position. It was a good thing, he guessed––he and Harry were the top fighters in the Training School and, thus, were expected to fight to volunteer––but just so _boring_.

"Well, it had to be you––no offense, Harry," Griffin said, but Harry didn't so much as blink at them as he nibbled at his bagel. "I mean, who in this district _doesn't _expect the mayor's son to volunteer? The only son, way older than his little sisters, handsome to boot––"

"Don't push it," Jaeger cut in above Duke's snickers.

"Morning Mr. Blackwater!" Duke suddenly exclaimed. Heads turned as Jaeger's father walked into the room, straightening his tuxedo.

"Ah, good morning boys," he said, scanning them. His dark eyes landed Jaeger, and he smiled. "Ready, my son?"

"More than ever," he replied smugly, grinning.

"Aphrodite told me that you were up to some trouble earlier? She just ran off to take _another_ shower."

He snorted, rolling his eyes. "That was entirely her fault, dad. She wouldn't shut up!"

Mr. Blackwater laughed, shaking his head. "Well, you boys finish up now." He turned his attention to the rest of the boys. "Are your parents coming as well, or will you join our party as usual?"

"As usual," the boys (except Harry) stated together. Mr. Blackwater nodded to them and left the dining room.

The boys finished eating quickly, Duke scrubbing Jaeger's face with a handkerchief and exclaiming over his sloppiness being the final act, and they filed out of the dining room. The rest of Jaeger's family was already waiting by the front door.

They strolled out of the mansion and, pretty much within a few minutes, found themselves at the city square. The mayor's house so happened to be right next to the city hall, after all, and they had to go _around _the square to get to the entrance.

"I'll see you at the stage, Jaeger," Duke said with a wink before he disappeared into the crowd.

The boys got their fingers pricked and went to their respective age groups. Jaeger and Harry waved to Griffin and went to the 18-year-old area.

The opening ceremony went without notice to Jaeger––he had watched it so many times, with his father up on stage, that he would have fallen asleep this time if it weren't for the fact that he knew that he was going to volunteer.

Something trembled inside his torso––not fear, but what could only be called raw excitement. His fingers twitched, as if they were already ready to wrap themselves around the handle of a weapon and strike a blade into a tribute. He could feel it already, the hot blood washing over his own arms and splattering on his face with screams ripping through the air. An arrogant smirk curled around the corner of his lips––the people around him were gone, no more, replaced by the dead bodies of tributes, himself standing bloodied in the middle while cheers erupted from what seemed to be empty air, the announcer shouting above the cheers, "And I give you the champion of the 63rd Hunger Games, Jaeger Blackwa––"

A hand patted his arm and he rounded on his attacker, though he relaxed upon seeing that it was only Harry.

"Pay attention," Harry said calmly, nodding at the other. Jaeger realized that his fists were clenched so hard that the skin over his knuckles were stretched white. He quickly released them, straightening his back and lifting his chin up. The moment was coming.

He watched, with mild interest, as Lalalicious chose the female tribute of their district. _Vencinity Corbinette, huh... _He thought. He had heard of her, from belches of gossip from people passing by and nudged elbows from his friends. She was one of the top students of her class in the Training Center––it seemed, though, that she was going to go into the Games a year early.

Jaeger snorted softly. One year less of training compared to him! This was going to be no competition.

"Now, let's see who our lucky man this year will be!" Lalalicious announced, dipping her hand into her bowl. She withdrew a paper.

He watched with mild interest, the kid chosen walking up to the stage, his own face uninterested because he knew that someone would volunteer for him.

And thus Jaeger did, raising his hand among the crowd, his arm sticking out from the sea of adolescents, when Lalalicious asked for a tribute. "I would like to volunteer for tribute," he said, his voice firm.

The crowd parted for him, and he walked steadily to the stage. Duke and his father smiled at him warmly as he stepped up the stairs and stood by Vencinity. They shook hands, and he caught the excitement in her gray eyes.

_What a pretty girl, _he thought as he let go of her hand, giving her a polite smile. _Too bad._

The Peacekeepers escorted them to the building and Jaeger took a seat in his room. He looked around. This place was rich, luxuriously covered with white decorations. He doubted whether even a speck of dusted rested on the white pillow next to him.

He didn't raise an eyebrow at the room, though––he was the mayor's son. He had seen better.

Jaeger turned his head when his father and the rest of his family strode into the room. His sisters didn't seem impressed, but his father was smiling at him.

"Good job, my boy," he said, patting Jaeger's shoulder. "I'm proud of you. Do well in the arena, son."

His mother then beamed at him and hugged him tightly, her long hair tickling his nose. "Oh, Jaeger, I'm so proud! I'll be cheering for you," she murmured, her voice loving, before kissing him on the forehead.

Jaeger nodded to him, turning his eyes toward his sisters. Athena stood in front of him, her hands cupping something.

"For luck, brother?" she asked quietly, holding out her hands. In them was a single bracelet, made of multicolored beads and held together by a simple knot of string. In the center were six white cubes, each one adorned with the letters of his name.

He smiled a warm smile at her, holding out his wrist. "Of course, Athena." He let her tie it, observing it after she finished. Yes, he really liked the look of it. He'd keep it.

"Remember to not dawdle," Artemis, his youngest sister, suddenly piped up. Her blue eyes bored into his solemnly. "Other tributes can be really surprising when they're at the point of death!"

Jaeger chuckled at her, patting her blond hair affectionately. "Of course, Artemis," he assured, taking in the knowledge that he knew he'd push aside later.

Aphrodite stepped up to him, and he acknowledged her warily. Her arms were crossed tight over her chest, and she glared at him.

"... Good luck, Jaeger," she said quietly. He blinked at her, but then grinned and opened his arms. She flung herself into them, and they embraced.

"I'll see you in a few," he said to her as they separated. She nodded, sniffing, and he waved to them as they left the room.

He didn't have to wait long for the doors to fling open. Duke strode into the room, grinning manically, with Griffin and Harry following close behind him.

"Well, well, I'm excited for this year!" Duke said, instantly putting Jaeger into a headlock and ruffling his hair with his knuckles. "I mean, the tributes I get all the time are _great_, but you––you're gonna be spectacular, Jaeger!"

"Leggo," Jaeger puffed, pushing his friend away with a grin. "You're going to train me well, right, Duke?"

"Of course," Duke snorted, ruffling his own black hair. "Those tributes won't know what hit them!"

"I can't wait for my own chance to shine next year," Griffin sighed, his arms folded behind his head. He flashed an envious grin at Jaeger. "You better win, or I'll kill you, Jaeger."

"Do well," Harry put in, nodding at his friend.

Jaeger grinned and held out his fist to them. "I'll see you guys soon," he said. The three others bumped their fists together.

"Me sooner!" Duke barked with a laugh. They exchanged several pats on the backs and rough high fives before they had to leave. Duke winked at Jaeger before the door closed behind him.

Jaeger sighed a bit and leaned back against the couch, closing his eyes. He went past the point of no return––but that didn't matter, did it? After all––he grinned––he was going to return here, to District 1, no matter what.

All the factors said so.


	4. District 2 Female: Arden Carter!

If the local Training Center were to be empty on any given day, it probably would have been on a Reaping Day.

Arden, however, made sure that this wasn't quite so the case.

Sweat-slicked hands grabbed at the handles of knives and threw them at moving targets––the blades sliced deep into the dummies, straight into the bloody circle that centered their torsos and the objects shuttered to a halt.

The tip of her right foot traced a half circle as she gracefully spun on her left heel, tossing a couple more knives as if they were dice. They hit her targets straight–on––however, she had no time to so much as glance at them because she had to duck and roll away from the incoming rain of arrows heading straight at her.

She dodged them with arched jumps, slicing clean through the arrows with her knives when she found the need to, and sent knives soaring to the machines that attack her. The blades stuck into the cracks between the metal pieces, and she backflipped a few meters away from them before they simultaneously exploded.

Arden tensed, awaiting more attacks, but a simple clapping from behind her caused her to spin around. Her posture relaxed whens she saw that it was only Hawken, her best friend. Her training instructor jotted down notes on a clipboard.

"Good," she said, walking over to Arden and showing her the clipboard. Arden's eyes scanned over the clipboard, her expression unchanging. "Full points. I believe you're ready."

She looked up at her instructor, her blue eyes hardly betraying her surprise. "You think that I'm ready to go to the Games this year?"

"Yes, and no. I am sure that others will have a problem with your age, but I don't want to give the Training Center time to squash down your ferociousness," her trainer said, giving her a small wink. "Don't tell anyone, but I already put your name in the volunteer spot this year. You're in."

Arden gasped, mouth open in surprise––but it quickly transformed itself into a wide grin, the corners of her eyes crinkling upward. "Thank you, thank you!" she screeched, engulfing her trainer in a hug. She only chuckled and patted her back. "You go get those tributes this year, Arden Carter."

She and Hawkin left the Training Center together, Arden still in her training gear.

"If you only you could go to the Games with me this year!" Arden sighed as they walked down a path.

"Now I'm pretty sure you wouldn't want that," Hawkin said, though he still smiled. "I'm jealous of you, though. Proud––but still jealous. I hope you win."

"Hope?" Arden scoffed, giving him a light punch on the shoulder. "No––me, a fifteen–year–old, volunteers at the Reaping only to die during the bloodbath. That's terrible. I'm going to be the victor, no doubt about it."

Hawkin only smiled as they strolled along the path. Eventually they reached Arden's house, and they turned toward each other at the gate.

"I'll see you at the Reaping?" Arden asked, leaning downward to give him a hug.

He patted her on the shoulder. "Yeah. You, look well on the stage."

She grinned at him, he smiled at her, and then Hawkin turned around and rolled away. Arden watched him for a moment at his slowly receding figure, his gloved fingers steadily pushing at the wheels of his chair. She felt her eyebrows knit together, but she sighed to herself and turned away.

Her mother greeted her instantly, frowning and eyes scanning over her daughter. "You're absolutely drenched in sweat. Have you not taken a shower at the Training Center?"

"No, mom, it hadn't really occurred to me," Arden drawled in reply, slinking past her mother. The persistent woman stayed right on her heels.

"Well, go upstairs now! Take a shower!"

"Well, I was thinking," Arden replied, taking off her ponytail to shake back her brown hair. "That maybe I can go to the Reapings in this outfit? It'd look really nice!."

Mrs. Carter's slim eyebrows curved downward, her eyes narrowing at her daughter and the edges of her well-painted lips thinning. "Of course not! That'd be absolutely horrible––why are you even suggesting such a thing, Arden?"

Arden let out a long sigh, already expecting this answer. She carefully tied her hair back up into a ponytail, glaring at her mother. "Because, mom, I'm going to the Capitol in two days and it'd be nice of the cameras show me in my training outfit!"

She was sure her mother had stopped listening at 'Capitol' and wasn't quite sure why she had continued talking. Her mother's eyes, sharp blue like her's, widened with fiery surprise. "What are you talking about, Arden?" she snapped.

"My instructor!" Arden sighed. "She said that I'm ready this year."

"But you're only fifteen," her mother said testily.

"She said that I'm eligible, mom!"

"Nonsense, I shall talk to her right this instance," her mother said, stalking to the kitchen to reach the telephone.

"The Reaping's in half an hour, we don't have time for that!" Arden exclaimed behind her. She felt her irritation licking at her like flames, and she had to grit her teeth in frustration. "Just believe her––and me, mom! I thought you'd be happy!"

Her mother's hand was on the phone as she looked at her daughter, eyebrows furrowed. "I've hardly seen you train yourself! How can I be sure that you're ready?"

"Because I know I am," Arden replied, glaring at her mother with steely eyes.

The two women stared at each other, mother and daughter, volts of words shot at each other through their eyes. After a terse moment Mrs. Carter sighed, rolling her eyes with extreme effort.

"Alright. You'll go to the Capitol today. But––" she snapped the word, pointing at her daughter. "You may _not _wear that outfit to the Reapings! Change, now, before I change my mind and stop you from going to the Reaping at all!"

They both knew that would result in death, but Arden also knew that her mother wasn't joking. She scowled at her, shoulders slumping in defeat as she marched up the stairs, slamming the door of a bathroom heavily behind her.

She doused herself in water, scrubbing at her skin furiously with her hands and shaking her head to rid her hair of excess water. She exited the bathroom stark naked and dripping wet, leaving a trail of puddles behind her as she strode to her room.

A yellow sheet of shiny fabric waited at her chair, and she picked it up and examined it. A simple dress, with a bow on the back––too fancy for her liking, but she guessed it would do.

Arden used an old shirt to dry herself off before slipping into the dress, messily tying the ribbon behind her. She knew she was going to be late at this rate, but she could hardly care, only bothering to brush her hair into a slick ponytail before storming down the stairs.

"Ready, my girl?" her father asked at the door, his smile hardly faltering at her appearance. Her mother's beam was slightly stressed as she corrected Arden's bow.

"Ready as I'll ever be," Arden replied.

The family set off, grabbing a taxi to the city square at the street. They were late––"fashionably so," as Arden's father called it––and Arden hardly got to say good bye to her parents before she hurried off to have her blood checked.

The announcer, a Capitol official with the name of Leporis Honeyman or something like that, had already finished and now the mayor was making his usual speech about Panem's history. Arden shuffled into the fifteen-year-old section, receiving glares from her peers before they turned their attention back to the stage.

Arden waited, a bit bored––do people even pay attention to these speeches any more? It's not like it's different every single time––until Leporis finally got to drawing the names.

As with usual Capitol manners, he started with drawing the female name. She waited patiently for the girl to be called out––really, did her name matter? Nope. Not at all––and for the usual formalities before raising her hand.

Leoporis mimed surprise. "Well, well, it seems like we have a volunteer this year!" he piped in his ridiculously high voice, waving Arden over with his jewel-studded fingernails. "Come up here, girl, tell us your name!"

Arden strode up to the stage, glaring at the girl chosen as tribute as she passed her by the stairs. She stood by Leoporis, shaking his hand with an iron grip.

She turned to the stage, ignoring formalities and microphone. "I'm Arden Carter," she announced, her voice strong. "And I am going to be your female tribute for this year's Hunger Games."

She didn't bother looking at the audience, at the probably impressed faces, and instead took her place by the mayor's left side. Leoporis didn't even falter, his eyebrows wagging in what looked like curious delight before he pranced over to the male's side to pick the name.

Surprisingly enough, the male who Leoporis chose did not have a volunteer replace him. Even so, Arden hardly even noticed him as they shook hands. Who cared about him? Yes, he'd be her ally during the Games, but that didn't mean she needed to know him. She waited through the rest of the Reaping, sighing in relief when it was finally over.

She waited in the visiting room; her wait wasn't long, as the doors opened and, like soldiers, her parents marched into the room, their shoulders touching. The two were both tall, and with her sitting they looked like twin towers.

"We are very proud of you, Arden," her father started, placing a firm hand on her shoulder. "You are our only child, and we wish for you to do well in these Games."

"We have trained you," her mother stated, looking down at her daughter carefully. "And we know that you will win. We have faith in you."

She looked up at her parents, reminiscing her memories of them––when her father first taught her how to throw a knife, jogging with her mother before training school hours, battling both of them in one training session which ended up with all three of them scratched up and laughing––their faces, frowning and disappointed as she was carried off to the ambulance, Hawkin groaning in another stretcher right behind her.

Her eyes fluttered downward.

"Thank you, mother, father," she said quietly. They nodded at her.

"We'll be watching," her father said before the two turned and left the room.

She didn't watch them leave, not even blinking as the door shut. It took a couple more minutes for the door to creak open, and she heard the smooth sound of wheels rolling against polished floors.

Arden looked up and smiled at Hawkin, standing up to lean down and hug him.

He parked the wheelchair and hugged her back.

They didn't break out of their embrace. Hawkin murmured, "Please, get out of there safely," and Arden, surprised that she didn't feel insulted, nodded a tiny nod against his shoulder.

They separated and smiled sadly at each other.

He held out a gloved fist. "See you later, sis."

She gently pushed her knuckles against his. "Yeah, bro."

He wheeled around and left the room, leaving Arden standing in the center by herself, knowing that no one else would visit and waiting to be taken away.


	5. District 2 Male: Ross Everlark!

The air shifted with the soft sound of paper rustling against each other. A hand, large and callused at its fingertips, flipped through pages. A bird, every single strand of each of its feathers made out of a simple, curved stroke of graphite. A rocky canyon, formed entirely out of inky stipples. A pool, reflecting the colors of the trees and lifeforms above it, pastel dust still clinging onto the grooves in the parchment.

The hand slowly flipped to a fresh leaf. The tip of a pen, like the point of a blade, touched the paper, black ink bleeding off the metal and spreading out evenly to create a minuscule mark. The pen slid over the paper, a slow waltz that evolved into a single-handed tango, the pen leaving its trail of ink behind it.

Eyes, golden near the pupils but spreading out into a warmer brown color, glanced up from the sketchbook. They flitted black down, black eyelashes curtaining them, and the hand continued making its piece.

He took another pen with a clatter, and a new pen strode, leaving blood red in its path that mixed with the still-wet black, causing gradients of the two to blossom. Thin cracks of red formed veins, splotches, life.

Another pen, green now. Then yellow. Finally, blue, just to trace in swirls.

He put the pen down to look. A simple rose, velvety petals enfolding the bud in the center, beads of dew balancing on the edges. Its spiky leaves embraced it, leading downward to a stem with red-tipped roses. The flower leaned luxuriously against its yellow vase, seeming to almost kiss the blue-tipped clouds in its background.

The brown eyes flickered back to the rose, the drawing's near replica, that sat on the windowsill. The sky had lightened since he started, and now the rose bath in the soft, pale sunlight.

He breathed, softly, the air a phantom on his lips. Dawn could only last so long.

* * *

Two hours passed. Sweat replaced ink, dripping down flushed skin instead of paper. Red-streaked targets, plastered on the walls, had blades of all shapes and sizes, of a sword, a spear, sunken deeply into their centers.

His limbs trembled with exhaustion, but _no, not yet––_one more target. One more heart of a victim, forced to stop beating by his very own hands. One more––

The door opened. He paused, turning around.

"I believe that's enough, Ross."

He didn't speak for a moment, breathing in and out with barely parted lips. He swallowed in dry air.

"What time is it?" he asked.

"Time for you to start preparing," his father replied, leaning against the doorway of the training room. Ross glanced at the area behind his father, noting how the light had gotten even brighter.

He closed his eyes. "I suppose you're right."

"Damn right you do," his father replied with a wry smile, beckoning his son over with a small nod. They walked through the hallway. "Got a bath prepared for you, son. Don't spend too long in it. Your mother will lay out your clothes for you."

The water was lukewarm, not hot. Perfect. He dipped himself into the water, sighing quietly as the tension left his muscles.

He closed his eyes and let himself slip under the surface.

* * *

His hair dripped over his eyes, and he combed through it with wax to pull it up. A fluffy towel draped over his waist, Ross walked to his bedroom, discovering an outfit neatly spread on his bed.

He had already dressed into his black slacks and white dress shirt when his mother walked in, smiling. "Well, somebody looks handsome," she commented, plucking a red bow tie from the sheets. She had to stand on tip toe, adjusting the bow tie around his collar, when Mr. Everlark walked in.

"Well, look at this!" he barked, grinning at his son. He strode to the bed, whipping the black blazer off of it and settling it on his son's shoulders. He patted them. "Just like that. Don't bother pulling the sleeves on––it's perfect like this. Formal, yet unruly."

Ross looked at himself in the mirror, and nodded. Yeah. He could do with this.

He slipped into his leather shoes and nodded at his parents. They beamed at him, arm around each other.

"Handsome boy," his mother teased.

His father chuckled. "Your brother's already at the city square," he added, dusting off his suit. "Peacekeeping and readying the stage. Flynn called, too––he says that he'll meet you there before you're both hoarded off."

"Alright," Ross commented shortly, nodding.

The family ate a light breakfast, parents talking with son silent, before walking out. The Victor's Village was almost empty, its inhabitants already out to enjoy the Reapings.

Ross' family hauled a taxi outside the Village. Ross said farewell to his parents as they approached the stairs, lagging behind the tide of adolescents to look for Flynn.

It didn't take long. Soon a hand gripped his soldier, and Ross spun around to find himself face-to-face with the toothy grin of his best friend. "Yo, Ross, found ya!" Flynn exclaimed, holding a fist out. Ross met their knuckles together with a small smile, and the two turned to get their blood checked.

"Ugh, that's hella gross––you can feel the needle just drilling into your skin," Flynn complained as they walked to their area. "Can you believe it, we have to deal with two more years of this! Say, Ross, who do you think will volunteer this year? There's always a volunteer after all––I'm amazed that you don't go to training school, by the way. _Everyone _goes to training school, why don't you?"

Ross shrugged. "My dad already has weapons. I train at home."

Flynn snorted. "Damn right you do. You're so buff, man, if you get put into the Games you'll definitely have a chance. Though that's only if you volunteer, and that, of course, is meant for the trainees. Oh well––you'll swoon _all _the ladies with your looks, Mr. Handsome," he said with a sly grin.

Ross snorted, bopping his blond friend on the head with his fist. "Shut up, you're getting weird looks."

"Right, right."

Flynn finally shut up, and the two of them turned their attention back to stage. The Reapings started, Leoporis smoothly starting as usual with his flamboyant voice. Flynn spent the whole time prodding Ross on the side with his elbow, muttering in snide comments about Leoporis' sexuality and how much time it must have taken for him to put on his makeup.

He finally shut up when it was time for the female to be chosen, holding his breath along with the rest of the audience––however, he couldn't keep his lips sealed when the volunteer walked on stage.

"_Damn_," he pretty much exclaimed, causing the others around them to look disgruntled. "How old is _she_? She looks hardly younger than us––"

Ross promptly slapped a hand over his friend's mouth, shutting him up efficiently.

"And the male tribute, of course!" Leoporis simpered after greeting the girl, Arden or something, batting his extremely long eyelashes. He plunged his hand into the glass bowl, swirling his hand around and withdrawing one slip of paper.

He unfolded it and held it out before hand.

"Ross Everlark?"

Flynn gasped besides him, then thumped him on the back. "Well, get up there before your volunteer makes you look stupid," he whispered, and pushed him off to the sides. Ross glared at him as the Peacekeepers crowded around him, but his friend only grinned with a thumbs up.

They marched to the stage.

"Any volunteers?" Leoporis asked the audience. Ross stood on the stage, Leoporis the barrier between him and the other female tribute.

They waited.

Silence greeted them.

Among the crowd, Ross could see Flynn's face, his smile slowly disappearing and realization settling on his shoulders.

"Well! We give you the tributes of District 2, Ross Everlark and Arden Carter!" Leopolis announced happily, clapping his hands. "A round of applause for these two, please?"

The audience replied, hands clapping thunderously to greet its two new tributes, though there was hesitance, too. The female, extremely young––the male, while older-looking, not a volunteer.

The odds, it seemed, were not in this district's favor.

Ross narrowed his eyes at them.

The peacekeepers herded him and the girl into the Justice Hall, and Ross went to his own room to wait. As usual, his parents went in first.

"Well, son––I can honestly say I didn't expect this day," his father stated, after embracing Ross. His mother stroked his hair. "But I didn't expect it so soon. Go get them, partner."

"We believe in you," his mother added with a small smile. He looked at them. They didn't have smiles.

"Really?" he asked quietly. "There are better tributes out there. They actually were trained to fight."

"Says the son of a Victor and one of the top weapon-makers in Panem!" Mr. Everlark exclaimed, slapping his son on the shoulder. "You'll be fine out there. I've taught you everything I know about surviving out there in the wild."

Ross observed his two parents, who were smiling again, and simply stood up from his seat to hug them. "I'll miss you."

"We'll miss you too, son."

They departed.

The doors opened again, and Flynn walked in. He took Ross' hand instantly, bringing him in for a quick hug.

"Dude, that was _sick_––I thought that a volunteer would go up, but when no one came, I was like, _Dude, what the hell is happening?_" Flynn muttered. His face was pale, golden eyebrows furrowed. "You're going to the Capitol. You're going to go to the Capitol and you're going to be out in an arena with a bunch of ruthless bastards and––Ross––_dude––_"

"Flynn, calm down," Ross intervened, frowning at his friend. "It's alright. I'll be fine."

Flynn blinked at Ross, then sighed loudly. "Sorry. Didn't mean to insult you or anythin'––it's just that––you know––"

"I know," Ross said, sitting back down. Flynn took a seat besides him. "I don't have that great of a chance."

"More than others, though," Flynn added.

Ross smiled wryly. "Yeah. More than others."

A tense, short silence.

"I think you might actually have a chance at this," Flynn noted, looking up at the ceiling. "You're a weapons master. Your dad's a weapon mechanic, your mom's a Victor, and your half-bro's a Peacekeeper. I think you can make it."

"Thanks," Ross said, words hollow.

"I have a gift for you," Flynn said. He took Ross' wrist, dropping something into his hand. "Keep it, okay? For luck. I'll watch you when I'm not working at the Nut. Who knows, maybe even during then."

A pat on the back and Flynn left. Ross looked down at his hand. A rock, a pretty one albeit, smoothed down with crystals glittering at its surfaces. He tossed it once, twice, and pocketed it. Yeah. He'd keep it.

Ross didn't expect any more visitors, so he blinked when the door opened once more. He looked up at the Peacekeeper striding into the room.

"Hey."

The Peacekeeper took off his helmet and grimaced at Ross. "Yo."

Ross leaned back against the couch, his fingers fluttering over the velvety cushions. "Do they have sketchbooks at the Capitol? I left mine at home."

"I'm sure that they can get you one," the Peacekeeper said, taking a seat besides him.

Ross looked over at his half brother. "Buzz. I'm a bit curious. Why did no one volunteer?"

Buzz just shrugged. "Beats me. Maybe the Training Center didn't cough up any good Careers this year." He looked at Ross. "Are you gonna be okay?"

Ross shrugged in the same manner as Buzz. "Who knows."

The two sat in silence, similar in the way they preferred to not speak. Finally they both got up simultaneously, and Buzz hugged his half-brother. "Fight well out there. Don't turn into a monster."

Ross nodded. "And you."

They high-fived, and Buzz left. Ross watched, then sighed and sat down, finally noticing the room around him.

It was beautiful, a nutty brown that glossed over the floor in tiles and curtains sweeping over the walls. Lights adorned the ceiling that caused the furniture to bask in soft glows. The room whispered elegance, sighing and stretching itself.

Ross closed his eyes.

If only he had an easel and a paintbrush––then, perhaps, his day would have been better.


	6. District 3 Female: Yarrow Cochran!

**Author's Note**: This chapter'll be a short one, sorry! There wasn't a lot of information for me to work with.

* * *

The birds had only just started chirping. The streets outside were barren, empty of its usual skeletons humans that dragged their feet against the settling dust, throats parched and minds buzzing. Any other day, bodies, dead but alive, would drag themselves through the roads, bumping against one another, filtering themselves into separate factories to waste away the rest of the day, until their already numb fingers wore raw by the twisted metals that they handled.

But not today. Not today, the day that a great finger of Fate itself will dip itself down from the clouds and point at two destined, one male and one female, to send them to the depths of hell.

In a dusty neighborhood, the steady rhythm of a hammerhead tapping against nail, muffled by the thin walls of its household.

The hammer hit the nail again, and again once more, driving the metal point deeper into the wood until none of its tail was to be seen.

Yarrow paused in her work, using the back of her hand to wipe the perspiration that had beaded on her forehead. Her long, auburn hair was tied up in a ponytail that spilled down her back and on the wooden floor like shining water, and she tossed her head to move spare strands away from her work.

Almost done, she told herself, flickering her teal eyes to the window to check the time.

The final strike of her hammer hitting the nail, and she moved back to look at her work with a small nod.

That would do.

* * *

A couple hours later, she was downstairs in the kitchen, spatula dancing diligently across the pan to help the eggs cook. Her father walked down the stairs.

"Cooking already?" he asked, giving her a kiss on the temple. He paused, then frowned, his nose twitching as he sniffed at his daughter. "I smell quite a stink there! Be sure to take a bath after this, or at least rinse off."

"Yes, father," Yarrow replied, taking three plates off the cupboard. She scooped eggs into them, handing a plate to her father. "Is Abel awake yet?"

"He will be in a bit," he replied, nodding his thanks after taking the plate. "I'll bring him down, just wait."

Her father disappeared back up the stairs. Yarrow set up the table and was pouring water into glasses when he came back down, the scrawny mess of her brother strewn across his back like an oversized ragdoll.

Mr. Cachron deposited his son on a chair and moved to his own. Yarrow set a piece of bread on each plate.

Abel blinked, rubbing the traces of sleep from his eyes and staring at the food before him. He slowly picked up his fork and poked at it.

The other two ate, their only noises the sound of chewing and forks clinking against plates.

Mr. Chachron finished first, gulping down his water in one go and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "You two already know. Today's the Reaping."

Yarrow glanced at her father with narrowed eyes. Abel dropped his fork. It fell into his barely touched food.

He sighed, rubbing his temples. "Abel, I'll be with you during it. Usually this doesn't happen, but there are special exceptions. After all––"

"It's alright, father," Yarrow suddenly cut in. "I finished this morning."

Her father stopped and stared at her with hazel eyes that widened with his smile. "Did you now?" he asked happily, reaching over to pat the top of her head. "Well, then––Abel, that doesn't mean that I won't be with you, but this is wonderful!"

They looked at Abel, whose spindly fingers attempted to extract the fork from the clutches of egg yolk.

"We'll show him when we leave," Mr. Cachron said firmly, standing up to dump his dishes into the sink before heading up the stairs.

Yarrow went upstairs after she finished her meal, her father passing her on his way down to aid Abel. As instructed, she rinsed her body with hot water and scrubbed at her skin.

Her long hair neatly wrapped in a thick, pale towel, she slipped into a simple white dress and put on a neat pair of black shoes. She then focused on drying her hair, a task that, when left to nature, usually took hours.

It was still damp when her father called her down the stairs, and she had to accept it with a dry nod to her reflection before stepping down.

"I already got it out," her father said, greeting her at the hallway. "But I want you to be there when he sees it. You made it yourself, after all."

Her eyes softened.

"Thank you," she murmured. They found Abel in the kitchen, staring blankly off into some other world, and woke him back into reality. Putting him back onto his father's back, the two walked to the front door, where Abel's gift awaited under a simple white sheet.

"Your new means of transportation!" her father announced as Yarrow whipped the sheet off. Under it laid a neat, wooden wheelchair, its wheels covered in rubber to let them run smoothly. Handles arched off the back and a neat parking brake sat on the side.

Mr. Cochran gently lowered his son onto the wheelchair with Yarrow's help.

"You can hold onto the sides, see?" she murmured, grasping his small hands and placing them on the sides. Abel looked at his new seat, wonder reflecting on his brown eyes. He grinned a goofy smile to the both of them, and they smiled back, the skin around the edges of their eyes crinkling.

She took his hands.

"Listen, Abel," she said softly, pulling her younger brother into a hug. His hands twitched. "The next few hours are going to be a bit scary, like when it gets dark and when you hear weird noises at night. But it'll be okay, okay? Dad will be with you. I'll be with you shortly."

She looked at her brother's blank eyes, eyes that gave no sign that he understood a word that she said. She rubbed the backs of his hands with her thumbs, wishing that there was more she could do.

They left the house, Mr. Cochran pushing Abel's wheelchair. They quickly disappeared into a stream of families, Abel's eyes widening at the sheer amount of people, strangers that he had never seen before in his small life. They went to the city square, where Peacekeepers hoarded the kids into their own little sections.

Yarrow held Abel's hand as a Peacekeeper pricked the other one. He only made a small noise in surprise, and, after Yarrow's blood was checked, the family moved into the square.

"I'll see you two later," Yarrow said, kissing Abel on the forehead and nodding at her father before going to the seventeen-year-old section.

The Reaping began as per usual. Yarrow felt her fists clench shut, and slowly loosened them, her breathing steady. Just one more year after this. One more year, and then she would never have to worry about these Reapings again.

_But there's still Abel,_ a cruel voice whispered to her. Poor Abel, her younger brother that she just loved so, so much. A brother that could not walk or speak, cursed to this fate through a premature death. A brother whose only memory of a mother's embrace is one of thin arms, arms wrapped around its child as its owners took its last breaths.

The thought of him having a fraction of a chance in the Games was sadly laughable.

_He can't be chosen, he can't. _She felt thankful, somewhat. Despite the loss of their most beloved mother, the family was doing well. There was no reason for him to sign up for tesserae.

_As long as I'm here, we can survive_.

She didn't hear the official call out the female tribute.

She did, however, feel a hand land on her shoulder.

She turned her head and saw her friend, Olivia, who she was sure was not there just a moment ago. Olivia's dark eyes were wide and she was shaking, and––

"Yarrow Cochran?" the Capitol announcer repeated, her voice trilling.

She felt blank as the sea of adolescents departed for her, starting her pathway.

Yarrow slowly took Olivia's hand off her shoulder and, in a dreamlike state, walked––no, _floated _to the stage, ascending the steps. The air was deathly silent, but her heart pounded in her chest, so loud, much louder than the hammering of the nails earlier in the morning, so loud that the entire District could hear.

But only silence greeted her, silence as the announcer stated her name once more to confirm to the audience, silent when she asked for a volunteer.

Her eyes locked with Abel.

She stood, trying not to tremble, in the center of that stage as the male tribute was chosen.

She couldn't help it, though––her face twisted itself into a frown as she watched the male martyr step up the stage, his face reflecting the fear that she felt writhing inside of her.

His face, however, lacked the deep creases of age, although it held scars from obvious work. She stared, dumbfounded, as he stood not far from her. He was just but a _boy_.

They shook hands. His eyes were wide, scared, and she wished that she could do more than just squeeze his hand, hoping that her eyes told him that it was alright. It was okay, they'll be fine.

When they both knew with every speck of their hearts that this was absolutely not the case.

* * *

The Peacekeepers took her away to the Justice Building. Yarrow waited in a room laced with soft colors, her hands tightly intertwined on her lap. She stared at the ground.

The door opened, and wheels skidded across the ground as her father and Abel rushed in. He parked the wheelchair, immediately running to his daughter and pulling her into a tight embrace.

She clung onto her father, her face buried in his shoulder as she grit her teeth, eyes screwed almost to a close because she could not cry, she could _definitely not cry_.

"Yarrow... My dear sweet daughter," her father murmured in a cracked voice, his hand stroking her long hair. He pulled away from her, and his face was lined with pain. "You look so much like your mother. How can I... How can I lose you?"

Yarrow looked down at the floor, fists clenched tightly. She looked up again, and this time a single, glistening tear ran down her cheek. "You have to take care of Abel, dad. You have to."

They both knew that it was near impossible. The factories called for its workers nearly sixteen hours a day. Without a job, even a middle class family like they were nothing.

He slipped a metallic piece into her hand. She looked at the round, warm coin at her palm.

"My father gave that to me," Mr. Cochran said softly, his eyes trained on the coin, too. "He knew what it was like, living this life. Of course he did. He told me, 'Son, whenever you are afraid of life's path for you, or you feel melancholic over the burdens weighing your shoulders, give this coin a rub with your thumb, and know that I am with you.'"

He closed his eyes at the memory, then opened his eyes to meet his daughter's. "I want you to do the same when you're out there, my girl."

She didn't have to say anything, just flung herself into her father's arms again, for what they both knew would be the last time.

Yarrow looked at Abel. He was staring, his mouth parted just the slightest in surprise. She leaned down and hugged him.

A pause.

"Yarrow?" Abel asked.

She stared at him.

"Are you leaving?"

His pale hand clung onto her wrist, and finally her face fell, and she clutched onto his hand with both of hers and pressed it to her face, feeling her own heart tear and rip until it was nothing more but just shredded tissue.

Abel did nothing but put his hand up to her head, patting it once, twice. She looked up at him with tearful eyes, and he smiled at her softly.

"Good bye."

The Peacekeepers came and, under her father's futile protests, said a faint good bye.

* * *

**Author's Note: **I was going to write more with Yarrow and Olivia, but I felt like the ending was meant for her and her family. I assure you, though, that Olivia definitely went to visit Yarrow. They are best friends and have been since childhood.


	7. District 3 Male: Igor Apature!

**Author's Note: **My laptop died! Completely crashed and I lost everything. Thankfully, I still had some of my documents stored around somewhere, this fanfic being one of them. This chapter's rather short, and I had trouble writing this dude! But here, have your next tribute!

* * *

Like the walls of his room, the sky outside was gray, clouds wisping over it with equally dull colors. He watched it blankly, his hands limp on the thin piece of cloth he called a blanket. There were no birds chirping outside. Sometimes there would be, their wings scattering dust off the poles and wires, but not today.

The regular alarm for him to wake up didn't start. Blandly, he wondered what had happened. Did the alarm break? Nonsense, Professor Wallace would have noticed it before daybreak.

His thoughts dwindled as he stared out the window again. The streets, usually animated with bags of skins and bone dragging themselves through the streets to the next smog-filled factory at this time, were empty. He vaguely wondered if this was due to a special occasion.

A loud beep ripped through the air from a device near the door. He looked toward it unflinchingly, then got up and left the room. Breakfast.

* * *

"Mouse," Professor Wallace started as Mouse began eating.

Mouse took the simple pill and placed it onto his tongue. He downed it with a sip of water and looked at Professor Wallace.

"Today's the day of the Reaping. It will be your third one, to be exact," Professor Wallace said. "With your diet of nutrient pills, there has been no need for you to sign up for tesserae. Thus, your chances of being chosen are miniscule. Why, I did the calculations myself-it's so insignificant a number that it is smaller than dust!"

The professor smiled at himself for his own genius and effort, but the smile faded when he looked back at Mouse. "That doesn't change the fact, though, that the chance still exists. Just because something is so microscopic that it cannot be possibly seen by the human eye does not mean that it does not exist. This is sadly an amazing fact."

Mouse didn't reply and instead stared at Professor Wallace. He eyed the boy.

"If you do get chosen, we both know that there will be no chance for you to survive. So, let's hope that you won't."

He began to leave the room.

"It's hard to find test subjects as indifferent as you."

* * *

Mouse understood now. The Reapings were around mid afternoon, so there was no point for morning experimentation, lest he react to it during the Reaping itself.

This free time was precious, he knew to some extent, so he walked to a spare lab room. Professor Wallace was working away in his main laboratory, no doubt, possibly on some sort of device that he planned to use on Mouse later.

He ignored the muffled clanks and whirrs emitting from the wall and instead focused on the cages that lined on the counters. Mice. Different types of mice, their tails like worms among the damp wood chips.

He peeped a fingertip through the bars of one. A mouse stopped grooming its short fur to look up at his finger, then approached it to sniff it.

"Hello, Bard," Mouse whispered, opening the cage softly and holding his palm beneath the exit. Bard swiftly scampered to his hand, and he closed the cage and sat on the hard floor.

"Bard, up." Like a puppet without strings, the mouse obediently lifted itself onto its hind feet, balancing itself well on his flat palm. He watched it with unblinking eyes.

"Run around, Bard."

The mouse jumped off his palm and scampered to the wall. Once reaching it, it turned and skirted around the room, keeping its body so close to the wall that its fur brushed it. Upon finishing its lap, Bard went back to Mouse and jumped onto his palm.

Mouse stroked Bard's head with the thumb of his other hand.

"The Reaping's today, Bard," he said softly, his gray eyes looking at the mouse's white ones. His teeth clenched, just for a moment, then relaxed. "There's very low chance that I'm going to get chosen, according to Professor Wallace."

He glanced around the room, then whispered, "Do you think I can trust him?"

* * *

"It's a shame that every single individual in this large, dreary district is required to attend!" Professor Wallace complained, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. His other hand sat on Mouse's bony shoulder, guiding him through the streets. Now they were flooded with people, but the direction of the flow didn't branch off into separate factories as it usually did. They all had the same destination: the city square.

"Yes, Professor Wallace," Mouse answered automatically.

Wallace looked down at his test subject. "Nervous, are you?"

"No, Professor Wallace."

"Oh? I'm surprised," he commented, his thin, inky eyebrows raised. "I am used to seeing you display signs of fear, Mouse, but you are now displaying bravery! I hope this is not pleasure-not like you've had _that_ in years, though!"

He guffawed at his own comment. Mouse didn't reply, just stared straight ahead. Another kid was in front of him, not a boy from a laboratory, but unmistakably a boy who spent every day in a factory, his hands callused and blistered from sparks.

_Am I a lucky one?_ he wondered vaguely, his fingers reaching up to touch a circular scar on his forehead. Was he a lucky one?

* * *

They arrived at the city square. Like the last time, Mouse found himself amazed at the sheer amount of people. In the labs, there was only him and Professor Wallace. Sometimes there would be others professors that Professor Wallace would lock himself up with for hours, them talking and laughing and discussing. Sometimes Mouse would be with them, on display as they all worked on him, testing him with their electric pokers.

One time one of them brought another test subject. Ash, he believed they called her, because her hair was the same color as the sidewalk outside from chemical poisoning.

If he recalled correctly, she also died that day in the lab. They burnt her body there.

Professor Wallace stayed with him until it was time to get his blood checked, and left him at the table. Mouse didn't as so much as blink when the needle drilled into his finger and looked at his blood with little interest.

He shuffled into the thirteen-year-old crowd, the kids looking at him with some curiosity. Who was this boy, they asked themselves. Have you ever seen him before? No...

But fear overtook them, and their gazes swiftly returned to the stage, where the bowls full of names there waited. As always, Mouse wondered what was written for him. Did they really write 'Mouse' on six strips and place them in the bowl?

As twice before, Mouse watched the ceremony with a bit of fascination, if one could call his blank staring such. The history of Panem had not even so much as interested him until he attended his first Reaping. Then he had learned it-of the fighting, of the Hunger Games, of the sheer amount of humans.

That was, perhaps, the first time he had truly experienced true terror, his fears directed at the glass bowl that he now stared at on the stage. His name was in there. As Professor Wallace said, there was the possibility that the Capitol worker would pluck his name out and he would be in the arena.

The girl that walked onto stage was young, he noticed. Really young, but not quite as young as him. Still, he felt something akin to empathy. She was going to die. The girl had this fact written on her scrawny body. Even he knew this.

The Capitol worker went to the male glass bowl and drew out a piece of paper.

"Igor Apature," she read clearly. He looked around the male area, wondering who exactly this 'Igor' was. The others were looking around too, clearly wondering the same as him.

Looking behind him, Mouse caught Professor Wallace's gaze. The professor's gaze was surprised, stricken almost, and he was staring directly at Mouse. With jerky motions, he nodded toward the stage, and mouthed, "Go."

He felt a Peacekeeper take his arm. Mouse looked up at him in surprise, and when he tried to walk, found his knees weak.

It was almost dreamlike, how he walked up the stage and stood on it. He barely shook the girl's hand, as he himself was shaking, his whole body. Since when was his name Igor? His name was Mouse. This had to be a mistake. It was!

He suddenly grabbed onto his own arms, guarding himself. Sweat beaded on his forehead and dripped down his face. He was going to die. He was going to die!

He tried to catch Professor Wallace's gaze, but the professor was looking down. His own eyes were wide, scared, quivering as they darted around everywhere. The mayor's words were lost on his ears. There was only one fact now. He was going to die. His life is going to end.

The peacekeepers hoarded him into the Justice Hall. He sank quickly into the couch, not even bothering to look at his surroundings, and curled in on himself. No tears came out, but the terror was almost tangible in the air. He was going to die.

"I'm going to die," he whispered to himself.

It was as the professor said. There was absolutely no point in hoping that he'd miraculously survive. It was negative. Not going to happen. Sooner Professor Wallace would quick being a scientist than him surviving.

After a space of time that he didn't calculate, the door opened and Professor Wallace stepped in. Mouse stared at him with wide eyes.

Suddenly he broke out into a shaky smile. "I-I guess t-that I'm n-n-not your mouse anymore, P-professor?" he asked shakily, his squeaky voice resembling those of the animal he was named after.

Professor Wallace shook his head. "No, Mouse. You aren't."

Professor Wallace stared at Mouse, Mouse stared at the ground. Suddenly a hand landed on Mouse's head, and he looked up.

Professor Wallace grinned his maniacal, crooked grin. "Get the cheese, Mouse!"

He was gone before Mouse could ask what he meant.


	8. District 4 Female: Cordelia Edlyn!

Author's Note: I SWEAR I'M NOT DEAD I'M JUST... having a severe writer's block. I've also been focusing on other hobbies besides writing, so I apologize profusely for my absence.

I've had troubles writing this one, so sorry if the ending seems a bit rushed. Extremely rushed. I just wanted to get it over with.

* * *

_Hey, did you hear?_

_Of what?_

_The female tribute for this year-the one that's _supposed_ to be our tribute this year? She got into a heavy training accident._

_No way! The Reaping's only next week. What are they going to do?_

_I don't know! My brother's friend is a training instructor, and I heard from her that they might just drop it._

_What, so no volunteer?_

_Well, I'm sure someone else will. We'll have to see._

* * *

It was eight in the morning and lively. The seagulls soared through the salty air, shadows against the deep blue sky. They squawked at each other, squabbling over pieces of fish intestines left behind by fishers and pieces of bread that some left behind.

Although today was the day of the Reaping, plenty of workers still went out to the ocean at around four or five in the morning to see if they could catch some good grub. It wasn't illegal, and the inhabitants of District Four were already used to rising well before the sun to net some fish. Early to rise, early to bed. This was one of the main 'rules' in the district.

A soft melody floated from a two-story house not far from the main shore, its blue exterior walls draped with flowers and decorations. Inside, Cordelia played, her slim fingers dancing over the black and white keys of the piano. It was a joyful song, occasionally displaying a fragment or two of excitement.

She couldn't help it. Today was the Reaping, after all!

_Not that I'm going to volunteer, of course! _she reminded herself harshly, for one of her fingers had tripped over the keys and the piano trilled unhappily. Oh, would she love to...! _But you are much too young, Cordelia. Much too young._

She couldn't help but to imagine it, though; the idea of her in the arena just seemed so vivid, so enticing. She could imagine her hands wrapped around the handles of knives instead of hovering over piano keys, of her emerging from a battle as the sole victor. People she didn't even know would be cheering her name, and oh the fame she would receive at home!

_Oh, crap. Focus! _she reprimanded herself again, for her song had quickened to such a pace that one would think an octopus fed one too many sea slugs was playing it. She wasn't going to play the Games this year. Her training wasn't even close to finished, after all!

_I wonder what about this year will be different from the others? _she asked herself as she played the song to a close. There was always something about each and every year that made them unique. After all, that was why they were just so fun to watch.

* * *

She was stretching when the rest of her family finally walked in.

"How was the catch today?" Coredelia asked as she bent backwards, her arms stretched out above her head. Her palms caught the floor, and she remained in that position, her black hair pooling down beneath her.

"Pretty good," her father replied, brushing off his heavily callused hands. "Not as well as some others, but since we had limited time that was only to be expected."

"How was your morning, darling?" her mother asked, walking past her daughter to the bathroom.

"Boring," Coredelia replied. "Trained like you told me to, then played some piano and watched some television. Some of the Reapings already happened, so I watched those."

"Oh?" her father asked, watching his daughter as she went back into a standing position. "And what were some of the tributes from the other districts like?"

Cordelia paused, thinking. "There were less volunteers than other years, that's for sure," she said, shrugging. "I don't know why! There was this _crazy_ girl from District 1; she was chosen, but she was ecstatic. I think she meant to volunteer anyway! And the male tribute looked pretty strong... District 2, the girl was young! She looked my age! And not that strong, either-but she volunteered, so I guess she might as well be. And the male tribute wasn't a volunteer, but he looked okay, I guess."

Her father nodded thoughtfully. "I wonder where all the volunteers went? It's not like District 1 and 2 not to offer up their best young ones for the Games." He shook his head. "Oh well, we'll just have to see how it goes. Aren't you supposed to be preparing for the Reaping?"

She frowned. "What? I have plenty of time-" Her green eyes spotted the clock. "Oh crap; you're right! Sorry, dad!"

She ignored her chuckles and scampered up the stairs. She burst into her bathroom, only to have a towel dropped onto her head.

"Already taken." Cordelia looked up, brushing the towel from her forehead, to see her older sister clad in only a towel.

"Meri!" she exclaimed. "I didn't see you go through the door! I thought you stayed behind or something!"

"Always bad at catching the details, aren't you, sis?" Meri teased. "I strolled by while you were listing off the tributes. _And _I was about to take a nice hot shower before you walked in here."

"Sorry," Cordelia replied with a sheepish smile. "Just let me get some hair supplies. I already took a shower, so I just need to dress up!"

"Look pretty, lil sis," Meri replied with a small smile. "I bet every other girl out there will look as if they're going to a nationwide dance. Oh, how embarrassing would it be for my younger sister to be the only one looking casual! The horror!"

She mimed swooning in horrified shock, and Cordelia pushed her for her teasing. Meri just smiled and stepped into the shower, and steam was pouring into the room before Cordelia exited with her hair supplies.

"Trying to get my hair all frizzy, jeez!" she exclaimed as she withdrew to her room. She couldn't help but to give it an appreciative glance as she entered. The carpet was soft on her bare feet, and the walls were a light sea blue, her very favorite color. Her bed consisted of a hammock that her father made himself, strewn with downy blankets and feather-filled pillows to make it comfortable. Sea shells littered the white furniture, and she had to move some off her dresser to set down her supplies.

"Why doesn't Meri do this for me?" she complained to herself and she powdered her face, her hair pushed back by a hairband. "She's so much better with makeup than me. And she's so pretty, too.."

She finished her makeup rather quickly, only really pausing to add some eyeliner the same color of her irises. She slipped into her dress, a light green dress with spaghetti straps that fell to her knees, and then began on her hair. She curled the dark tresses into ringlets, playing them out in a way that they resembled the wave patterns on her dress.

Cordelia finished and looked at herself in the mirror. Ugh. She put some lip gloss on, smacking at her reflection. As she had thought, Meri would have done much better-but for her own job, it wasn't that bad, she guessed! She smiled at her own reflection, glad that the powder at least somewhat dulled down her freckles, which speckled over her face like the first few drops of rain on dry pavement.

"Cordelia! Down here, now!" Meri called from downstairs. Cordelia flounced downstairs after her sister's voice, jumping off the last few steps and swinging to Meri. "I'm here, sis!" she announced.

Meri looked over Cordelia with a careful eye. "Not bad," she said, grinning and petting her sister's hair, careful not to ruffle it. "Though promise me you'll luck _much_ prettier once it's actually time for you to get up on stage."

Cordelia puffed out her round cheeks. "Of course, Meri! I look plenty fine right now!" She tossed her head, her hair flowing after her.

"Whatever you say, sis," Meri replied.

Their chauffeur drove them to the city square, where Cordelia said her farewells to her family before making her way to her own section. She idly sucked on her finger after it was pricked. It tasted like metal.

She quickly went into the fifteen-year-old section with her fellow female peers. They exchanged smiles and pretty little waves before focusing on the stage, eyes curious. Who was to be up on the stage this time? For all they knew, it could be one of them.

They watched the Capitol announcer, the ever so beautiful Terra Overwhil, announce the start of the ceremony. Cordelia caught herself yawning during the propaganda video and quickly stopped-she'd ruin her makeup if she made careless actions. And after all that effort to make it nice!

She blanked out for a bit-the Reapings were really redundant after all-but finally regained her focus when Terra began to fish out the female slip. Who would it be-?

"Cordelia Edlyn!"

Cordelia's mouth opened in a small little 'o' of surprise. The girls around her stared at her, and one even gave her a little nudge. She quickly regained her composure and walked up to the stage, her back straight and herself well aware of the eyes trained on her. She shook Terra's hand and stood, staring at the crowd as the announcer asked for volunteers.

To Cordelia's surprise, silence greeted her question.

_I'm the tribute? _she realized a second after everyone else. Without thinking, her hand reached up to touch her bottom lip: a gesture of surprise.

The corners of her lips rose up into a smile. She waved at the crowd.

* * *

Of course, her family was the first to enter the room. Meri quickly pulled her sister into a hug.

"Meri?" Cordelia asked, a bit confused. Meri pulled back and frowned at her, shaking her head.

"I can't believe it... No one volunteered! Someone always volunteers!"

Cordelia tilted her head to the side, then smiled. "I guess they just didn't this time."

"Why are you so calm?" Meri questioned, her slim hands curled into fists. She grit her teeth. "Cordelia, you're going out into an arena! There will be trained killers there!"

"But Cordelia's one too," Mrs. Edlyn reminded her eldest daughter, looking at Cordelia with a thoughtful gaze. "After all, this is what I've prepared for her all these years. I think she'll be fine."

Mr. Edlyn nodded his approval. "If anyone can get out of the arena this year, it'll be Cordelia."

"But..." Meri was aghast at her family's indifference. "She's only fifteen! You saw the male tribute for this district-_he_ volunteered, and he's most definitely well trained! Cordelia-"

"Meri," Cordelia cut in. "That kid looks younger than me. He's even shorter. I'll be fine."

Meri stared at her sister in disbelief, but she closed her lips and remained quiet.

"Make us proud?" Mr. Edlyn suggested.

Meri nodded.

Oh, she would.


	9. District 4 Male: Mason Sharp!

The Reaping days always confused him. He usually followed a strict schedule: wake up at the crack of dawn and head out to sea to go diving for fish for a few hours, come back home, attend school, study, play some guitar, go back out into the ocean, and then sleep. It was a rather set schedule that required no difficulty to follow. Even on weekends, where there was no school, he had his own schedule to follow.

On the Reaping day, however, working was prohibited, at least for the morning. Thus, he found himself with nothing and too much to do.

Always early to rise, he stared out his bedroom window. His calloused fingers gently touched the pendant of his necklace: a shark tooth, its edges jagged.

He could see the ocean from here.

* * *

He was floating on the pool, facing the windowed ceiling, when his father appeared.

"Mason," he said, looking at his apparently dormant son with curiosity. "The Reaping's going to be soon, isn't it?"

"It's not until a few hours," Mason replied flatly, flipping his hands in the water to maintain leverage. He sunk one hand under the surface and brought it up, observing the water drip from his fingertips and back into the pool.

"Is Tiffany going to be here?" he asked.

Mason glanced at him. "Maybe. She has her own family, after all."

"Maybe you should visit her instead," his father suggested.

Mason contemplated it. "We're right here by the city square, though," he said slowly. "It'd make more sense for her to come here instead. I'll give her a call and see if she's available."

"If you say so," his father replied. "Go and get ready soon. I want you to be in prime condition during the Reaping."

"Do you know who the volunteer this year will be?" Mason asked.

"No. According to rumors the male dropped out when the female was forced to abandon her position as this year's volunteer. It's a bit disgraceful, in my opinion-many people share the same notion, too-but what has happened has happened. It seems like District 4 will only have tributes this year, not volunteers."

Mason thought about this as his father walked away. No volunteers. He was used to watching the Games and rooting for the volunteers of his district, as they were extremely likely to win. Nothing like the scum from the other districts, yes? But this year they would be no one to root for... _ I can always support one of the other districts, _he reminded himself, but that didn't seem to have any fun in it. The point of the Games was to support _your_ District and that alone. There was no reason to do that if your District was sure to not win.

He sighed, closed his eyes, and dunked his head under the water.

* * *

A couple hours later, freshly showered and his hair dampened to a dark brown, Mason sat in his room. A guitar sat on his lap. His fingertips, already calloused from years of rope, tridents, and hooks, sat over the sharp strings. He began to pluck at the strings, allowing a soft tune to glide through the room.

It was, however, interrupted by an abrupt twang as a hand flew out of seemingly nowhere and smacked itself on Mason's back. He jumped.

"Garret!"

"Yo Shark," Garret replied, grinning at his friend. "Your hair's still wet? Tiffany's gonna go nuts if you let it dry like that on the Reaping day."

"It looks fine when it dries by itself," Mason said quietly, reaching up with a hand and patting down his hair nonetheless. "When did you get here?"

"I snuck in through the backyard. Of course your dog found me, but hey it already knew me so I was fine."

"If we ever get robbed, you're going to be the main suspect," Mason replied.

Garret put a hand over his heart in mock shock. "Are you actually saying you would throw me, your best pal, into jail?"

"Only if the circumstances make it so that I have to," Mason replied. "Besides, I'm not going to be a Peacekeeper. Drake would do it, not me."

"Hearing that your brother would arrest me instead makes me feel _so_ much better," Garret replied jokingly, rolling his eyes and patting his friend on the shoulder. "Well, unless you're going to strum away, let's get something to eat. I'm starved."

"You couldn't have the decency to eat something before coming here?" Mason asked.

"Of course not. Your place has the best food."

Lunch was pasta doused in a creamy shrimp sauce and anchovy salad with lemon vinegar dressing, courtesy of the Sharp Chef. They ate while chatting, gossiping about the tributes this year.

"You watched any of the Reapings?" Garret asked.

"Nope. How are they?"

"District 3 are goners of course, but District 1 and 2? They're not bad-not bad at all. District 2's volunteer looks superbly young-"

Mason raised his eyebrows at this.

"-but their male looks like a winner. Have to say the same for District 1 though. The female looked insane-she was Reaped, but according to rumors she was going to volunteer anyway. Talk about fate, huh?"

"Yeah.. Fate," Mason replied, twirling the noodles of his meal into a neat bundle.

The doorbell rang then. A minute or so later the Sharp butler came in, guiding Tiffany. Mason and Garret both smiled at her.

"Caught us while we were eating, Tiff," Garret said.

"You look nice," Mason commented. It was true; she was in a teal dress that stopped above her knees and matching sandals that strung around her ankles. It suited her well.

Tiffany, meanwhile, was staring at them both. "You're not dressed!"

"Oh, crap, you're right. Oops," Garret said, staring at his own t-shirt and shorts. "Of course I left all my clothes at home-dude, gotta scram."

"Of course you do," Mason replied. "Dress up nicely."

"And you, wear some shoes," Garret said before dashing away from the dining room, the Sharp butler skirting after him.

Mason stood up, patting his mouth with a napkin before walking to Tiffany. She smiled at him and threw her arms around his neck, closing the space between them. "Nice to see you."

"And you," he replied, kissing her briefly. "Sorry if that tasted like shrimp. I need get ready."

"That you do. I thought you would've been prepared by now," Tiffany replied. "It's alright; I brought a book to bring my company. Go and make yourself look handsome-and dry your hair properly for once."

"Alright," he replied, smiling softly.

It didn't take him long to get dressed up in a neat suit and to style his hair back. He went downstairs. Tiffany sat in a beach chair and looked up from her book when she saw him. Her blue eyes immediately went down to his shoes. She frowned.

"You're wearing socks to the Reaping?"

"I'm sure there's a pair of shoes somewhere out at the front," Mason simply replied, holding out his hand for her. She took it and rose it, neatly bookmarking her novel and placing it inside her purse. They drifted to the door, where Mason took a pair of dress shoes, and then walked out.

"It's so nice that you live literally in front of the city square," Tiffany commented as they skirted around a couple buildings. There, in front of them past some palm trees, was the city square, already crowded with plenty of people. He nodded.

They went together, holding hands, to the blood registration. He waved to Tiffany, giving her a final depart kiss, before walking to the fourteen year old section. Garret was already there.

"You tell me to remember to wear shoes, but here you are with an incomplete tie," Mason commented, eying the cloth with distaste.

Garret snorted. "What can I say? I hate this sort of stuff."

"If you get chosen you're going to look like a ruffian," Mason replied.

"As if that's going to happen. The chances of me getting in are near minimum," Garret replied.

They both knew this to be true, and instead focused to the stage. There was Mason's father, reading the Capitol's decree.

"Don't you ever get embarrassed seeing your father up there?" Garret whispered.

"No," Mason simply replied. "I'm used to it."

The mayor finished his speech, and they watched Terra choose the female victor.

"Wow, she's young," Garret noted as she stepped up onto the stage. They, like the rest of the crowd, waited expectantly for a volunteer. Silence only greeted them, though, and they stared as she waved at the crowd.

"She must be a Career or she wouldn't have that sort of confidence," Garret snorted. Mason nodded, eying the girl. She definitely had a muscular build, though it was hidden by the youthfulness of her dress.

Terra dipped a hand into the male tribute bowl. After a few moments of swishing the slips of paper, she carefully drew one out and called a name.

To the surprise and-admittedly, horror-of the district, twelve-year-old boy stepped up on the stage.

It was easy to tell what District 4 was thinking:

_A twelve year old boy could never win the Games!_

He wasn't thinking. If there was a puppeteer in the sky, he had definitely cast his string down on Mason's hand and lifted it when Terra asked for volunteers.

Garret stared at him, his mouth open in surprise. Mason blinked, staring at his own hand, and blankly went out to the stage.

It only dawned on him what he had truly done when he shook the girl's hand. She stared at him with a bit of confusion-he realized, with a grit of his teeth, that she was taller than him, too.

_What was I thinking?_

* * *

"I'm surprised," Mr. Sharp said, looking at his son with confused eyes. "You're only fourteen. What possessed you to do such a thing?"

Mrs. Sharp and Blake, their older son, sat down on elegant couches. Blake held a conch shell in his hand, observing it minutely.

"I don't know," Mason replied, truthfully. "I thought for a second-that-District 4 would be humiliated."

"That's truthful thinking," Mr. Sharp replied thoughtfully. "There were rumors that no one would volunteer, and if a twelve year old-no doubt a destitute-were put in we would be the laughing stock of Panem."

"Didn't it occur to you, though, that another seventeen year old or sixteen year old might volunteer instead?" Mrs. Sharp inquired.

"Not really," Mason replied. "I wasn't thinking."

They stared at his son, unsure whether to be concerned or proud or both. Blake finally stood up, sighing and checking the elegant clock that hung at the wall.

"We're running out of time," he said. "Shark, you have your necklace?"

"It's not a necklace," Mason muttered, but his hand dipped beneath his dress shirt and pulled out the shark tooth.

Blake nodded. "If you didn't have that, I would have seriously doubted you. But you know what? You actually have a chance."

Mason smiled a little. Blake held out his fist for his little brother, and they bumped their knuckles together.

Some Peacekeepers came and hoarded them out (Blake greeting them casually) before Garret stepped into the room.

"You're crazy, Shark," was the first thing he said as he plopped down on a sofa. He took a pillow, squishing it between his hands and then throwing it at his friend. Mason caught it quickly. "I have no fishing partner now! You willingly decided to throw yourself in a pit of killing kids."

"Well, I'm technically one myself," Mason said with a shrug.

"You never killed anyone," Garret replied.

"I killed things."

Mason glanced down at the shark tooth and narrowed his eyes. "You're gonna get more than a shark bite down there, Mason."

Mason didn't reply, and Garret finally patted him on his shoulder. "Whatever, dude. Try to get out."

"I know."

Garret left, and Tiffany soon replaced him. She closed the door quietly behind her and stood with her back against it, looking down. Mason stared at her, and suddenly the guilt that he had been oppressing filled him. He stood up.

"Tiffan-"

"We're over," she replied quietly, looking up and smiling at him. "Unless you come back."

Mason's outstretched hand fell, but he smiled quietly at her. "Understood."

She walked up to him and kissed him, gently, before suddenly slapping him. "I just felt like I had to do that," she commented, brushing off her palms. He held his stinging cheek and grinned at his now ex-girlfriend.

"I guess I deserved that."

"That you did," she replied.

* * *

**Author's Note**: Yeah, he's only fourteen years old

Here's a quick update as an apology for taking so long with Cordelia. Hopefully I'll be able to post another one or two chapters this weekend.


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